Ectoplasm in the Genes
by Bombilate
Summary: Once upon a time, Vlad had a family... Once, he wasn't alone... Now, everything was ruined, and it was all Jack Fenton's fault. Pairings include VladxOC and JackxMaddie (Vlad's wife is only mentioned.) T for mentions of death and some blood.
1. Accidents Happen

Author's Note: I do not own _Danny Phantom. _

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Chapter 1: Accidents Happen

Jack stumbled back in shock as the little house exploded in a furious burst of flames. It wasn't supposed to be this way... They had come there to _save _those people from the ectoplasmic scum that had kept them hostage there. Gold and crimson burned into his eyes, and a numbing sense of dread crept up into him... How could this have happened?

He looked at his two partners standing to his left; both had indifferent looks drawn across their faces, not affected in the slightest by what they saw...what they had _done_. He had _tried _to tell them to stop shooting, that the people in that home obiously had been brainwashed into thinking the ghost was one of them, that a more direct diplomatic approach was needed for the situation. Of course, the idiots blundered on, stubbornly assuring themselves that they were right.

While he couldn't say he'd never done something along the same lines before, blindly rushing after a ghost, it had never resulted in such..._disasterous _consequences. The metal bazooka in his hands felt cold and heavy as he looked back towards the flames, smoke wafting from the darkening wood of the home... No one could have survived that. Even if he ran in there _right now_, there would be nothing left to save... His only consolation was in the hope that the ghost wouldn't be able to bother anyone again. The energized ectoplasm from their blasts reacting with, what he assumed to be, the heating system or the oven running would have disintegrated the ecto-manifestation... right?

He looked back towards the other agents in white and holstered the bazooka onto his back. He could hear Agent O, or as he was known more personally, Oswald Farthing, already calling in a brief report to the Director as he tiredly approached them.

"...code orange-theta-double-zero. Request media restriction... affirmative, mission successful... O out." The pale-skinned man ended the transmission and nodded to his partners, Jack nodded back a solem look on his face, and followed the other two to the jet.

Slumping into a seat, he watched as the ground receeded below them. Oswald and their partner, Kennith Arlington (Agent K), a man who looked nearly identical to Oswald but for his dark complection, remained silent and it was hard for him to tell what they thought of the mission today at the small, old home in the middle of the Wisconsin woods... They didn't even know the people's names and they'd _let them die_. He- he couldn't do this anymore. He needed to _go home and be with his family..._ his wife and daughter... He could protect them, at least, and he would _always _protect them.

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So... That's Chapter 1. Short, I know, but I'm just seeing if I can actually complete a story.

If you didn't already notice. This is an AU. It will diverge from the original T.V. show (actually, it already has), but I'm not going into the details about that. You'll just have to find out yourself. :) This is all I will give you: There is no PP, TUE happened (like in the T.V. series), and there is NO Danielle (I really just don't know how I'd make that kid fit with the story).


	2. When Finding You're Alone

**Author's Note: **I don't own _Danny Phantom, Twinkies, _or _Oxy Clean... _Honestly, I don't even know why I wrote in some of those things...

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**Chapter 2: When Finding You're Alone...**

An indistinct humming emmited from the happy man as he returned home from a long day at the office. His company had been growing rapidily over the past few years and his wealth was mounting fast... Sadly, the progress also meant long hours and less time to see his family.

Locking the door behind him, he set his leather breifcase down on the table next to the door and ran a hand through his pre-maturely grey hair. Hmm. He'd need to get it cut again, soon... Taking off his suit-coat and hanging it up in the small closet near the door, he walked into the kitchen to get a snack before calling his wife to see how she was doing. He really was eager to see her and their ten-month-old son, again. They'd been gone for almost a week now, visiting his in-laws. With work piling up, he'd been unable to take the trip with them... Quite happily, they were comming home the next morning and he'd then be able to shower them with hugs and kisses again.

He swiped the phone off the reciever as he grabbed a twinkie from the cupboard, quickly ripping the plastic wrapping off the little 'packaged delicasy'. Taking a second large bite, the sweet was devoured and the man licked his lips while punching the number he knew by heart.

Strangely, the phone rang for several minutes before just shutting off. There was no going to voicemail, nothing. It was just silent... He shook off the nervous feeling of foreboding creeping up in his stomach and let it go. His dear mother-in-law was likely chatting it up with her friends or something... It was nothing to worry about. He'd call again later... But just in case they called back, he'd keep the phone with him.

Comming to a well-furnished, cozy living room, he sagged into the comforting plush cushions of the green couch. Plucking the remote from the coffee table before him, he activated the television and browsed the numerous cable chanels, eventually just settling for the news. He could, after all, leisurly relax and get some extra work done keeping track of the stock market... If he stayed awake long enough, that is.

It really had been a long day and the exauhstion from running a company was beginning to set in. His eyes drooped heavily and the last thing he saw before drifting into blissful unconsciousness was that obnoxious Oxy Clean add...

"_Brrriiiing! Brrriiiing!" _

Blue eyes startled open at the sound of the phone ringing. In a sleepy haze, he fumbled a bit around the couch and under the pillows for the offending object. Didn't whover was calling know that he wanted to sleep...? Sigh. Likely not, but that didn't mean he couldn't be irritated by it... Oh, he was _tired._

"_What is it?"_ His voice came out sharp and clipped, more frustration showing through than he would usually allow when speaking with people... A diplomatic touch was much more likely to get you far when speaking with the ignorent fools of the world, but at the moment, he could care less.

"_Hello. Is this Mr. Vladamir Masters?" _The deep voice on the other end lacked any and all emotion... there wasn't even a trace of guilt or fear that he'd been looking for... fooey. He sighed in an attempt to calm himself as his senses began to return to him, his usual suave manner re-infecting his voice.

"Yes. That's me." He nodded his head, though the man on the other end wouldn't be able to see it. "May I ask what this is about?"

_"I'm Director Bradbury, calling on the behalf of my department. We want to offer our condolences and sincerest appologies. We wish this situation could have been prevented."_

The foreboding from earlier was returning to him quickly and a lump crawled up his throat, threatening to choke him. He'd seen enough movies and read enough books to get the implied message. It was as if the man was saying... But, no. It couldn't be. They were perfectly fine. This had to be a hoax, a- a con...some cruel joke! Anger welled up inside of him, drowning the fear and worry.

"This better not be some cruel idea of a hoax." He growled out into the microphone. "Tell me, _now,_ exactly _who you are _and _why you called me." _The man's reply came, but he didn't seem one bit startled.

_"I appologize, again, Mr. Masters, but I can't give you my full name or my department as it would be against procedure and would break national secrecy..." _there was a tired sigh and the 'government official' (Bradbury, he'd said) was likely rubbing his forehead in tired exasperation, as of yet the only emotion that was ascertainable from the man across the line. _"There was a terrible accident and your wife and her parents were found deceased in the aftermath."_

The air held a moment of stunned silence, murmurs of the news station playing low in the background with the anchor giving a story on a house-fire with no survivors... The gentleman on the couch looked up at the screen in morbid curiosity, praying that it wasn't what he thought it was... That this was all just some sort of mistake. That this really was just a joke, or, maybe, that he never did wake up from his nap and it was all just a nightmare... Sadly, the television screen showed otherwise.

Fire trucks, ambulences, police cars, and a few unmarked identical white vans were parked all around the still-smoldering ashes of what used to be a small wooden house. Even with all the extraneous people bustling in the shot and the vehicles hiding the scene from view, he recognized the location, the street, the remains of the home... The rose garden where he and his wife had their wedding reception was still there, healthy and jubilant, a great contrast to the blackened ashes of his in-laws' home... The startling, sickening fact hit him like a ton of bricks. It was true. She was dead. His family was _gone_... And to think, if he had convinced them not to stay so long... if his wife and son had...

_"...asters? Mr. Masters, are you still there? Sir, please respo-" _Bradbury continued to, unsuccessfully, prompt him from silence. However, the man jumped out of his revelry on his own and launched a newfound question at Bradbury. Desperate hope tinged the edges of his voice.

"My son. What of my son? You never said he was found among th-the..._bodies_." The last part came out in a struggle, reality of the situation bearing down on him and brining him to the brink of tears. He was strong, though. He would not cry yet... not while there was still hope. Bradbury had said nothing about his son and he _had to know if he was alone again_. His son _couldn't _be de- _gone, _not before truely _living_. He wouldn't accept it. The long sigh that came across the line dashed any salvaged feeling of hope.

_"...The kid's remains weren't found... but we suspect the worst. Nothing could have survived that." _

A moment of incomprehension lingered. Bubbling from beneath, a cold emptiness ached at his core as he could no longer hold himself together. The dam broke loose, and a strangled cry escaped his throat. Silent sobs wracked his body as his free hand came up to cover his eyes, the other one remaining, unnoticed, positioned at his ear with the phone. The world around him disappeared as he was drowned in sorrow. Why did this have to happen? They had been so _happy _and now _they were gone..._

_"Mr. Masters..." _Bradbury's voice interrupted his mourning, devoid of any sympathy or sincere regret... a wave of anger swept over him at this. _"We suggest you don't look into this any further. They're dead-" _It hurt physically when it was stated so _bluntly, _like that. _"and there's no way to bring them back... You don't want to get caught up in something just because of this...Go on with your life." _There was a beep and the phone signaled the call had been terminated. The man's hands fell numbly to his sides and he curled up further into the couch, crying out his despair.

His family was gone... His wife, dear Bella whom he loved with all his heart, was _dead_... His little son, the boy he had so many hopes and dreams for, so many ideas to teach him, to help the child learn and grow into a strong and fantastic person... They'd been taken from him, brutally ripped from his life... Now they expected him to just go on as if _nothing had happend? _As if they _were never there?! _Oh, they were so wrong... His cries drifted off into barely a sniffle as newfound determination poured into his soul. No one could tell him what to do, especially when it came to _his family. _He'd track down the murderers and _they would pay._ He would make sure of it.

Blue eyes glowed red in the dimming light of the evening. He was Vlad Masters, rich CEO of a rapidly expanding corporation and a powerful half-ghost. No one could stop him from achieving his goals...

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__(Oh, you dastardly line break! Why do you haunt me!?)__

O.K. The story's coming together more, now, and you can probably guess where some of it's headed... so I'm not going to spoil it!

Next Chapter: Revenge Waits for No One, but No One Waits for Revenge.


	3. Revenge Waits for No One

**Author's Note: **

Yes! Another Chapter! (Be Aware...No, I am not writing these all at once, I've been working on this for weeks... Do not expect updates quickly. This is a splurge.)

So... I don't own _Danny Phantom _and I probably never will...

On with the show!

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**CHAPTER 3: Revenge waits for no one, but no one waits for revenge...**

In the month since their deaths, he'd made little progress. Genius he was, the government files on the incident proved to be buried deep within firewall upon firewall. It irritated Vlad to no end that a stream of nonphysical numbers and immaterial data were the only things blocking him from finding the murderers.

Tiredly, he held up his heavy chin in his hands and stared down the computer screen as if his glare could force it into submission. After a few minutes he groaned and allowed his head to drop to the table and closed his eyes as he mentally rehearsed all that he'd found so far:

-A covert government agency (whose name he still, as of yet, had not uncovered) that hunted ghosts had detected an ectoplasmic signature at his in-laws' home.

-In their incompetent ignorance, they had rushed off to 'destroy the malevolent ecto-manifestation' and 'release the citizens from it's evil influence'.

The description of the mission was still hidden, as well as the names of the murderers, but he knew it had been their fault that his family was dead. They had detected _one _energy-signature. If the ghosts had not been heeding his warnings and stayed away from his family, there would have been more than one detected. He knew the energy reading was his son, the little boy who had aquired a small but clear ecto-signature from his father. As anyone with a brain could tell, he was no harm.

Still, those agents completely disregarded the possibility that the ghost was benevolent. He knew his family, who knew of the child's origins, would have defended him. How the maniacs did not _see _was beyond his understanding. Instead, they barreled head-first into disaster, destroying the lives of his family all because of their hate.

Looking back at the computer screen, glowing in the dim light of his private laboratory, he set to cracking the code again. Determination flowed through his veins as his fingers flew across the keyboard. He _would _know what happened. He _would _find the murderers. He _would _avenge their deaths.

A maniacle grin spread across his face as a green 'access granted' sign appeared on his screen, and he was allowed into the mission log archives. Finally, after all his hard work and sleepless nights, his revenge could commence.

Scanning through the list of files, his curser hovered over the date on his target. Thoughts fluttered through his head, nervousness seeping in. Would he really be able to handle the matter-of-fact description of his family's gruesome death? Did he really _want _to know how it happened?... Would he ever be able to recall their happiness together, again, when his thoughts would divert to their passings?... Would his dear, sweet Bella have wanted this?... He shook the doubts from his mind. He _needed _to do this. He _needed _to know. He would _never _be able to rest if he did not...

Without further hesitation, he clicked on the link. In but a single moment, even black type was displayed over a bright white background. Numbly, Vlad found himself reading the facts of his family's horrible death, but, by the end of the report, his blue eyes were glistening with tears. A horrible ache permeated his body and he weapt for his lost love, for his son... As he momentarily lifted his eyes back to the sceen, the tears evaporated. His eyes boiled a glowing blood red in recognition of one name, right there, listed as one of the agents present.

"_Jack Fenton..." _He growled out as he clutched the table, cracking it beneath his grip. "You ruined my _life_, my _family_... I _will _have my revenge."

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Ooooh... Yep. Vladdy _really_ hates Jack now...

Next Chapter: A Life that Couldn't Be


	4. A Life that Couldn't Be

**Author's Note:**

Woohoo! Yes! Here's the last chapter of section one. It may be a while before I post more, but, oh man, I think this is the longest chapter I've written, so far... Enjoy!

I do not own _Danny Phantom_.

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**Chapter 4: A life that Couldn't Be**

He'd quit the GIW.

Surprising, he knew. To work with the 'best of the best' in the ghost hunting business was always his dream. They had been his goal all his life, ever since he stumbled upon the old family records, when he was a young teen, of ghost hunting through the generations and taking it on as his responsibility to continue the 'Fenton legacy'. It had taken a lot of hard work to earn his scientific doctorate at the University of Wisconsin while still going through the training (and giving up more than half of his usual fudge intake to loose the weight and keep the muscle) to get into the agency... Everyone knew he was the best operative they had ever taken on... despite his infamously 'hazardous' aim...

Still, when he handed his badge back to the director, the man had shown the most emotion he'd ever seen since being inducted six and a half years earlier. Bradbury had raised a questioning, thick brown eyebrow, and asked in his slightly gruff and usually emotionless tone, "J, why the in the name of all things ectoplasmic would you quit when you're at the top of your game?"

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_Jack just sighed sadly, placing his already-folded, immaculate white suit that had been his uniform on the dark, black desk. The weapons issued to him had already been signed back in and left with the quartermaster, downstairs, so this was his last stop before he left, for good_.

_"I'm sorry, sir, but I just can't keep doing this anymore... There's been too many people injured and with the incident today..." His dark blue eyes took on a distant look, then he shook his head and dispelled the thoughts. "I need to be with my family. I've been neglecting them and after all that's happened, I'm realizing just how _short _and _fragile _life is. I want to be there for them, all I can, while I still have the time... I talked with my wife, and I'll be helping her with her research in our laboratory. After all, I am a scientist... But I am, first and foremost, a husband and a father. Today helped put me into the perspective of time." He turned around quickly and made a rush for the door, afraid he would loose his resolve if he stayed any longer... he'd really loved that job, but it wasn't good for him or Maddie and his Jazerincess._

_"Wait, Jack." He released the doorknob in surprise at hearing his real name and spun to face the Director, now standing and coming towards him. (The director _never _used an agent's full name... but he wasn't an agent now, was he?) Bradbury held out a small white card with nothing but a set of numbers printed in glossy black ink. He flipped it over to show another set of numbers, written in the quick scrawl of a ballpoint pen._

_"Jack, I want you to take this," he said as Jack quizzically drew the small buisiness card from his ex-boss' hand. "You're the best agent this department has seen in years... If you ever need a favor, call me... That's my personal number, see, so it better be important to you... We won't forget your service to your country, Jack." The older man nodded towards him, a set expression on his face that just made his wrinkles more prominent. And, though he was not one to take up on an offer like it, Jack cracked a slight, appreciative smile and resisted the urge to hug the greying man (he knew it wouldn't be good to provoke him when he was just given something so honoring). _

_"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it..." He stuck out a hand and gave a flat smile. "It was an honor working with you." The elder man's lips quirked slightly. "We'll miss you, Jack. Keep safe... we may yet drag you back in here and replace that horid jumpsuit you used to wear with a _real suit, _again." The grip was released. _

_"Maybe, someday..." Then he'd left the office, a grim look overtaking his features once again..._

* * *

Standing in the soft light of the full moon, he stared at the skeleton of the little wooden house that had burnt down, taking down the ghost scum and the innocent lives of those who'd been there with it. After leaving the office, he'd immediately set out for this place. Sighing sadly, his heart aching in his chest, he walked forward.

The policemen, firemen, paramedics, and stray operatives from the GIW had long since left and the scene when the fire and smoke had cleared and the bodies were taken away. How many had there been...? Three, four? He couldn't be certain as his mind was still a little hazy from the mere fact that people _had died..._But he couldn't leave it alone... He had to see what had happened for himself.

Comming up to the blackened posts that used to be support beams near the door, he stepped cautiously onto the soot-covered foundation. Looking around, he could make out the crumbled forms of what once was furniture (a couch, a chair and a cofee table) all positoned around what was the brick gas-fireplace. Now the red adobe merely lay in crumpled bits all across the gound and on top of the furniture... It seemed to be the origin of the explosion that had taken their _lives_...

Staring at the debris, he found himself paralyzed in thought. Who had lived here, anyways? (He knew, it was unlikely he would find out. The GIW was meticulous with clean-up, leaving no stray details for the press to eat at and spit back at them.) Still, he wondered _who _theyhad been trying to save, _but failed. _Did they realize what was happening? Had they regained full cognitive capacity after the ghost had been obliterated and they were released them from it's hold, only to die moments later? Had they died in agony or was it quick and painless?... He truely hoped it was painless. Barely making it now, he really didn't know how he could live with himself if it were otherwise.

A soft, high pitched whimper, like that of a small, injured animal, pulled him out of his thoughts. Blinking, suddenly alert eyes looked around as his ears strained to hear it again. After a moment of silence, he gave up, running his right hand through his thick ebony hair. It must have been his imagination, nothing else was-

_"waAAAAAH!" _

A screechy, _loud _wail echoed through the empty night, startling him into a defensive positon as he reached for his no-longer-present ecto-pistol. He muttered a quick curse under his breath for no longer carrying non-issued firearms and slowly poked around the area searching for the source of the continuing, agonizing scream, debating with himself on its origins. Ghost...? Maybe one of the de-stablized entity's friends was back and could feel what was left of it's presence... As the sound continued and grew in intensity, causing his ears to rattle in familiarity, he questioned this. It sounded too... human. And, if he was quite honest with himself, it remined him a lot of what his daughter sounded like when she was still-

He halted in surprise when he came upon the tiny form of a baby, looking just barely old enough to crawl and hold himself up, hardly near the age to walk, huddled in the remains of what must have been a bedroom corner. A soft black blanket with little red and blue rockets, smothered in powdery soot, was clutched in tiny hands as reddened crystal blue eyes poured tears of uncertainty and fright. (In the back of his mind he questioned why the boy's eyes looked so familiar, but found himself forgetting quickly.) The fluffy black hair attop the boy's head stuck up messily and his little, red footsy pajamas were covered in ash as well. Before even beginning to question the child's presence, the father in Jack prompted him to jump forwards and scoop up the crying child into his arms.

Rocking back and forth gently, he shushed the baby, whispering to him quiet reassurances of 'it'll be alright', 'sleep, Jack's here, don't worry', and 'I'll protect you'. It, evidently, worked as the boy slowly quieted into a deep sleep. Looking down, he smiled gently at the still form resting peacefully against his chest. Not stopping his rocking, he did a basic assessment of the child's condition, without waking him. He was glad to find nothing major was wrong, a little mussed, but mostly unharmed. The only thing that worried him was a crusty scratch that had scabbed over maybe a half-hour ago, and ran from the point of his right cheek to next to the lobe of his right ear... it was lucky that it had missed his eye, comming to a point below it... In fact, it was amazing that the kid had survived at all... But, how was he missed when the paradmedics searched the place and found the bodies?... Sighing, again, he shook the theories out of his head for now. The kid had to go to the hospital to get checked over, after what happened, who knows what other damage he might have sustained.

Looking down again, a bright white spot of material, glinting in the moonlight, caught his eye. Shifting slightly to hold the boy in one arm, he pulled the material up to his eye in curiosity, noticing absently that it was attached to the little blanket. Squinting at the now-identified company label tag, he read the large, swirly letters written there over the logo in thick black ink.

'_Daniel James Ma-' _

He could tell there was more to the last name, but the ribon-like tag had frayed and the letters were faded and lost. Carefully, he placed the blanket back around the boy and began walking out of the remains of the home and towards his car.

"Daniel, huh?" He chuckled softly, talking to the sleeping form. "I've always thought that was a stupid name, but you don't look stupid to me..." He trailed off before being struck with an idea. "How about we call you, Danny? _That's _cool... so much better than _Daniel_..." He chuckled softly under his breath, the baby making no response but to cuddle further into his muscular bulk. He sighed whistfully and whispered sadly. "Wouldn't it be great if your family was alive? It would be _so much easier _for me to figure out what to do with you... but now?" Jack looked down and brushed some midnight locks out of the boy's tiny round face. "I don't know _what _to do... I-I guess you can live with me until we find you a place, little Danny-boy." He said suddenly grinning at the prospect. "You'd like it there with me and my wife. Oh she would adore you," Finally reaching his small car, he fumbled for the key in his pocket before slipping into the driver's seat, continuing to talk all the way. "We have a daughter too... She just turned five last month, but she has the wits of at least a seven-year-old. Ahh... inherited her mother's brain and seems to do a good job at using it. It's weird to loose an argument to her, but I couln't be more proud." He beamed and looked down at the boy still snoozing quietly in his lap as he started the car. "It'll be nice to have another _man _in the house." Looking up at the road he smiled sadly. "Too bad I'll have to give you up, Dann-o."

* * *

For the first week that he was in his care, Jack tried to find any possible information on little Danny that would lead him to living relatives. Of course, likely due to the GIW, he found none. (Why did he quit so soon?...) They had, after all, assumed that Danny was dead among the others...

Two weeks later, he found himself unable to give him up to an adoption agency. His wife, Maddie, had immediately taken a liking to the little baby and seemed to view him as her own. Their daughter, Jazmine, had first just watched him from afar. Still, it wasn't long before she was playing with him, showing him her little dolls and other toys. Jack, himself, felt protective of the child. He'd integrated into the family and none of them could imagine their lives without him... There was just one problem. He _wasn't _family. He wasn't _their's_...at least not legally. How could he fix that? _Could _he fix that? He really didn't want to get in trouble just for harboring the orphaned little tike without being his legal guardian...

He looked up from his plate of fudge on the kitchen table to see the little white card stuck to the fridge with a bright green plastic letter magnet. Beside him, in Jazz's old high-chair, little Danny squealed in delight every time the plush ghost-toy in his hand squeaked in his tight squeeze. Maybe Jack would to call in that favor, afterall...


	5. Not-Quite Revelations

AN: Sorry it took me so long to update... Yeah, months of absence is not good... PLEASE FORGIVE ME!... But I have a really good excuse! (No, really!) Schoolwork and brain working overtime to make my plot way too complicated after I almost finished writing the thing... So, I'm posting a few chapters now that I'm pretty certain on and we'll see how things go from there... Also, my spellcheck has been wonky, so please ignore any typos for now. I will be reviewing things as soon as I get it fixed.

OK? OK. Now on with the show... eh, fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own this, only the plot (that I keep revising) and the computer I am writing this on.

**Chapter 5: Not-Quite Revelations**

"Are you certain that is what they found?" Skulker said, carefully scrutinizing the ghost in front of him, finally getting over his shock at what Technus had just reported from his last invasion of the Fenton Lab. The 'Master of Technology and All Things Beeping' stuttered out his response, really hoping not to irk the hunter. He was an unofficial leader in the outer-rim of the Zone (below Walker, but no one really listened to the warden until he came after them.) So, Technus had decided it was best to give this... alarming information to Skulker first.

"Th-that's what the hunters said, Skulker. I, Master of all things beeping, wouldn't lie to you." He gulped as Skulker growled in frustration.

"Tell me again what happened! You know that if this is true, and the halfas ever get wind of this, the zone will never be the same! Who knows what they would do?"

"O-O.K." And Technus once again launched into his story.

One hour earlier, in the Fenton Lab:

Technus invisibly and intangibly entered the Fenton Laboratory through the ever-open ghost portal. It was always so convenient that the two hunters didn't care to lock it... Before the sensors, or the two jumpsuit-clad humans, could detect his presence in the room, he quickly dove into the home's computer system.

He usually would love to just take over the home, embedded with electronics just for him to control, and rampage throughout the city. Sadly, the ghost child was getting more and more experienced (and powerful...) and to fight randomly any time he saw fit would lead to a quick end to his plan and a swift trip back to the Zone. So, today, it was simple information gathering to use at a later date.

As he rummaged through files ('ghost weapons and blueprints, sightings, descriptions, ecto-appliances...') he stopped briefly at that last one. It sounded too strange to be what it sounded like. Yet, as he looked through videos, and written logs, he found histories of ecto-powered clothes-washers, toasters, ovens, other household items and their results. It was strange how the hunters seemed to make low-powered pseudo-ghosts out of their food all the time (and, frankly, disturbing). Still, he had to laugh at a particular, eight-year-old file on the Christmas turkey attacking the ghost child when he was, really, much more of a child.

Caught up in his enjoyment, he almost missed the sound of fascinated and excited scientists exclaiming new revelations blaring through the security system. Letting his ecto-enhanced programming focus more on the room's microphone and video camera feeds, he witnessed something that no ghost had ever hoped to even dream of.

"Jack! You have to look at this! If this is true, we may have a breakthrough in ecto-signatures!" The female, who looked somewhat like a beetle in her blue hazmat/jumpsuit with the hood up and red goggles on, exclaimed. Her husband came bounding up behind her with childish excitement.

"What'd you find, Mads?" he boomed out, awfully close to the microphone in the wall. Technus cringed, but continued to listen. This looked interesting.

"Look at these two ecto-signatures, Jack. Can you see the incredible similarities? Their almost identical! When I ran it through the computer, it came up with it being about 99.95% identical... Do you know what this means?!" she almost screamed, reciprocating her husband's excitement. Technus wracked his brain to understand the implications. Sadly, he was well versed in technology, not genetics (or ecto-signature research, the ghosts' equivalent). After a moment he continued to listen, the thin, blue-clad hunter already partway through her explanation at her husband's mute confusion.

"... that they're related. In human biology, it would implicate a parental relation. But ghosts can't reproduce! Right?" He looked at his wife confusedly, again. Technus rolled his bespectacled eyes. Of course ghosts could have children. The Box Ghost and his wife, the Lunch Lady, had married last year and, just the week before, sent out a notice for their baby-shower... Once again he'd interrupted the two with his musings.

"...know, Jack! This opens up whole new possibilities. We would have to know more about their creations to understand that... It could be that after death, some manifestations hold onto their bonds from life so well, that even their ecto-signatures subconsciously reproduce human-like genetic relation behavior. There is also the possibility that ghosts can reproduce and..." She looked up at her husband wide-eyed. He mumbled out the rest of her thought after a moment of silence.

"...That could result in even more powerful..." They met gazes.

"We need to test this further." The female stated with certainty.

"Right. Let's catch those ghosts and, before ripping them apart molecule by molecule, see if were correct. I'm sure you have a few tests you can run them through." The wife nodded at him, pleased with his idea.

"Mhm. As scientists, the code we hold to makes us gather data, theorize, test the idea, make a conclusion and repeat. We've gathered the data and made a few theories, now it's time to test them. I can gather more samples and run it through more tests. See what were right about. Oh it'll be exciting!" Technus didn't like the sound of this idea. Ghosts stuck together and no ghost wanted another to be... prodded at and tested on... like the Fentons seemed keen on. And with the implications that this would be done on a second generation ghost, who were extremely rare in their own right, who could be only a child... it frightened him. Listening closely, he decided to stay for a moment longer, his job rifling through files completely forgotten, to see if he could catch the names of the unlucky souls to be sought after by the hunters. If they were sentient, he might be able to warn them away from Amity...

"...they are, Mads. I know we don't need to know to track them, but I still would like to know who we're after. I need to know how many bazookas I need for this, after all." He ended with a large grin, showing shiny, straight white teeth. His wife leant forward and squinted at the screen, as if she didn't believe what was written there... apparently, she hadn't checked whose signatures she was comparing before sending them through the computer program.

"...I-It looks like its the Wisconsin ghost and that ghost kid, Phantom." She quirked an eyebrow as her husband leant over her shoulder, rubbing his chin in thought, eyebrows scrunched together.

"...I thought he was called Inviso-bil..." Then he pointed out, "Well, he certainly acts more like the age he looks when he's around that one, Incredibly incredibly, defiant, just like any teenager... except, instead of going to his room and slamming the door, he shoots ecto-blasts..." The wife leant back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"Well, it certainly proves that ghosts can't have any affection. That's for sure. If they did, those two might not fight like they do." Jack nodded back, vaguely thinking that lots of parents fight with their kids and that never disproved love before... It probably just reaffirmed it, but decided to leave it alone. It was best not to argue with Madeline Fenton.

Meanwhile, in the electrical systems, Technus had stopped listening. Shock from hearing the names of the two ghosts prevented him from hearing the rest of the conversation. Any other ghost might not have recognized the name they used for the first ghost (for some reason, human hunters rarely knew their prey's real names), but after going through the Fentons' files, he easily knew who they were talking about.

Plasmius, the Plasmius, was the ghost child's ectological father. He didn't have to doubt the Fenton's analysis. They hadn't been wrong in a long time, and, honestly, he could see how it was true. The chances of the only two half-ghosts in existence being created only 20 years apart were infintismally small. However, if the first was the father, and it was a trait passed on hereditarily... While he may not be good in biology, he could do the math. Oh man. It must be true. This was bad...this was really, really bad.

The ghosts in the outer ring around the Fenton portal, lead by Skulker, had been trying to keep the two away from each other for a while now. They origininally had feared the two teaming up when they became aware of each other and, then, during the Pariah's return'. That last one showed how incredibly powerful they could be if they joined forces, and they hadn't even fought much together then. It was worrying. Halfas, after all, had much more potential than your average ghost.

It mostly had to do with how their power and energy was converted from their stable, material, human form to ghostly energy, and not the energy-converted-to-matter that most ghosts had to do to maintain a physical, tangible form. They also could create their own ectoplasm in their core; other ghosts had to eventually return to the zone to recover from entering the human world. (Even Pariah was aware of this and had to transfer Amity Park to the Ghost Zone when he took it as his conquest.)

Then, their power was also not converted and melded into a lair in the zone. Though lairs mostly consisted of ambient power in the zone, some still was transferred from the ghost himself. Not being connected to a lair, they also didn't have that as a weakness, whereas most ghosts would be severely injured by their lair's destruction or damage... Luckily, they also didn't have the advantage of the naturally replenishing effect of it either.

Lastly, halfas, in general, weren't nearly as bound by obsession as other full ghosts. Full ghosts' obsessions never changed, and they could never resist them. They constantly had to fulfill their obsession to keep themselves sane. A ghost denied its obsession... it was frightening, to say the least. Halfas had much more free will. Their obsession wasn't just nearly as much of a sensitive point, but they could willingly change it, depending on events in their life. They were beings to be feared.

Specifically, Plasmius was feared for being powerful (around a level 9 to 9.5), knowing his full power, and exploiting it and his elicit knowledge of everyone and everything in the zone to assert his control. The child was feared for his constant ability to defeat any foe he deemed worthy (he frequently bested Plasmius with his wit, even with less power) and the boy's lack of knowledge of his potential (he rarely displayed more power than a level 5 or 6, yet he was, by Skulker's readings, at least a level 8, with continued exponential power growth. He could be easily underestimated.) They'd worked hard to keep him tired and distracted enough to be unaware of his growing potential.

If the halfas found out they were related (for surely, they did not already know, even with Plasmius' persistent efforts to train the boy, they did not act remotely like they knew of a real familial connection), they may find reason for a truce, or even more alarming, an alliance. Plasmius certainly would find his claim on the boy even more rightful than before. With their combined power, cunning, and battle experience, they would be unstoppable. He shivered at that thought. This must be prevented.

He quickly gave the computer a virus of his own making to delete all the data collected, inconspicuously (he did know the proper time to gloat) about the two halfas' relation. Noticing the two hunters had now left their lab, he slipped out of the computer beside the portal and rushed back into the Zone. Directing himself toward Skulker's Island. The hunter would know how to handle this. He had to.

Sadly, being the ghost of technology and not words or books, he completely missed the paper copy of the results, thrown about the lab amidst the mess of other documents and experiments...


	6. What He NEVER Wanted

Disclaimer: NOT MINE!

**Chapter 6: What He ****_NEVER_**** Wanted**

When Danny got home from a way-too-normal, boring day at school, his parents were in a frenzy and hardly said a word to him. Still, he got the gist of it.

1) They made a breakthrough in ecto-signatures. (Hopefully it was nothing that would lead to his secret being revealed... he was having way too may close calls already as it was.)

2) They were going out to find some poor ghost, who was likely terrorizing people, to test their theories on. (Danny promised himself to check the lab after they got home and release whatever they caught... if they caught something... Even if they turned out to be evil, they did not deserve to be 'ripped apart molecule by molecule'. He shuddered at the thought.)

3) He had to clean the lab... yea.

Tiredly, he set his heavy backpack down near the door before heading towards the lab. From outside, he could hear the screech of the tires from the GAV (Fenton GHOST Assault Vehicle!)... It looked like his dad was driving again... Several car horns were heard in the distance along with screams of pedestrians and a cat's yowl. Cringing, he hoped dearly that his mother would keep his dad from causing an accident... again... Looking at the lab door in resignation, he entered the passcode, J4FD93 ('Jack for fudge') on the keypad and descended into the dark, smelly place below.

Danny groaned loudly when he reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around at the basement lab... And they complained his room was a messy disaster. At least he had an excuse. Homework and ghost fights (that sometimes found their way into his room... not his fault!) prevented any semblance of organization... His parents, though, had much more free time. Why couldn't they ever clean their lab themselves?... If not for having to clean the lab that one fateful day (and whining about it to Sam and Tucker, his two best friends and thus prompting him to show them the 'failed' invention) he would have never stepped into the portal, fixed those damned crossed wires, and accidentally pushed the big, green ON BUTTON... He let out a quick sigh, releasing the pent up aggravation. He hadn't gotten much sleep the past several nights, due to continuous ghost fights, and there was a lot of homework tonight... He might as well get started.

Grabbing a mop and transforming into his ghostly alter-ego, the glowing green eyed, white haired Phantom, he glided up to get the gloppy splatter of glowing green goo off the ceiling. It was large and messy, but after his years of practice, he managed to finnsh cleaning the residue from, what was likely, another exploding prototype, in around forty-five minutes. Floating back down, he allowed the white light of his transformation to pass over him and return him to his black haired, blue-eyed, non-glowing 'human' self. The lab still looked like a disaster and he slumped visibly. Deciding to do something easy to help his sense of accomplishment, he rounded up all the loose, stray papers left around the lab and sat down at one of the tables with the disorganized pile.

Flipping through the papers, he pilled them into different categories to be put away (bills, notes, lists, documents, charts, etc..) and thrown away (junk mail and outdated fudge coupons). He stopped when he came upon something interesting.

The chart in his hands showed two different ecto-signatures and highlighted key similarities and differences. It must have been what his parents had been blabbering about before they left. Looking closer, he read over the data presented, blinking in realization of what it told. Now, he may have been getting poor grades in school, but that didn't mean he was unintelligent. In fact, he could be considered a genius, born of geniuses and raised by geniuses. (Though, Jazz, his elder sister, was still the smart one.) He had been taught how to decipher things like this since he was able to read. What he saw told him that there was a ghost his parents managed to get a sample from... some ghost that had a paternal relationship with the other ghost whose signature was listed...

He blinked, recalling a really weird memory from when he first met the Time Keeper, his good friend Clockwork. (He refused to think about Dan. That future was gone.) The Box Ghost and Lunch Lady had a child and named her Box Lunch in the future, _and_ they were married not that long ago... Did they have the kid already? In a bout of curiosity, he rifled through the other papers to find the document's companions. Speed reading through them to find the information he required, he stopped cold when he saw the names listed. The blood drained from his face leaving him paler than normal. For several minutes, he sat there, brain frozen, staring at those dreaded words.

'Results for: THE_WISCONSIN_GHOST [and] PHANTOM (A.K.A. GHOST BOY)'

'Relationship: CONFIRMED - PATERNAL'

_This can't be happening. This can't be 'tbehappening. no. No,no. NO!_

That's all his mind could think as he sat there in the silence of the lab, the only noise coming from the continuous hum of the portal. Eventually, his thoughts slowed enough for him to actually think about the situation.

There was just no way Plasmius, Vlad, the Fruitloop, could be his Father! Even he admitted that he was not his father when he insisted he deny Jack. Jack was his father! He was a Fenton, through and through. Even the genetic lock on the portal, calibrated to only work on Fentons (including his mother), agreed with him. Unless... NO. His mother would never betray Jack, his father, like that...no way she would betray them like that... The data had to be faulty. The computer could have just been confused by them both being halfas, right? He wasn't that man's son, no matter how many times the guy tried to make him such... Still, he wasn't truly satisfied with his reasoning. He'd grown up in a house of scientists and thus the rule of evidence to disrepute a theory was ingrained in his mind. In a sudden frantic rush for such, he ran up the stairs, documents still clutched tightly in his sweaty palm, becoming more wrinkled by the moment.

Absently, he folded the papers together into a crude rectangle and stuffed them in his pocket before heading towards his parent's room on the home's second floor... After all, what better place to get evidence than the family's personal documents in the safe in their closet? He-...he could find his birth certificate, and everything would be back to normal. Right?... He flung the sliding, mirrored closet door to the side and practically threw himself at the safe.

Five minutes later, he was banging his head on its lid, bemoaning the fact that his parents (likely his mother, as all his father's combinations were unsuccessful) changed the combo on the key pad. What was worse was the box had been ecto-proofed like many things in the ghost-hunter household, so he couldn't just phase his hand in and get what he needed. He sat there for a few minutes, his tired mind holding back tears at the thought that he couldn't find a way to deny the facts. He turned his head to the side so his right cheek, where he had a long, barely noticeable pink scar from when he was a baby. He'd always wondered how he got it. 'It was a ghost attack,' his recalled his Dad telling him. He let out an exhausted sigh, looking down at the floor beneath his mother's blue jumpsuits...Wait. What was that book?

Sitting up, he plucked the heavy tome, overflowing with papers, off the carpet and set it in his lap. Blowing off a thick layer of dust, a brown, fake leather cover with the words 'Fenton Family Photo Album' was revealed. His head cocked to the side as he squinted at it in puzzlement. He'd always thought that Jazz was the only one into scrap-booking, in his family. Why had he never seen this before...? The thought only made a sense of foreboding crawl into the pit of his stomach, but he squashed it down as he decided to look for his evidence here, still certain the computer's results (and his usually perfectly knowledgeable deciphering) was faulty. Carefully, he flipped it open to the first page...

'Jazz... Baby Jazz... Mom and Jazz playing princess... Dad defending a todler Jazz from ecto-pancakes with a spatula...' Picture after picture, it went on like this. He kept a close watch on the dates, knowing it would be necessary for his argument...even if it was only with himself. As it came closer to the time of his birth, something seemed off, but he just couldn't place what. He knew something was definitely wrong when it passed his birthday and there were no pictures of newborn him, or his mom in the hospital, or anything of the sort...

Then, he happened upon the first picture of him in the whole album. It was dated exactly one year after his birthday. His father was snoring on the couch, a leg hanging off the side and his mouth open. On his chest was a little baby him, curled up happily in sleep... with that scratch on his cheek, still red and crusty as if it had happened only days before. He was small, but healthy and plump, looking to be nearing walking age, if he was correct... Way too old for what should be the first picture of him in the album... Then he recognized what had been wrong before. His mother, Maddie, was never shown pregnant with him, even during the days approaching his birth where she should be incredibly round... She had never been pregnant with him. He was...adopted? Could it be true? He really was Plasmius's son? An old memory ran through his mind, called forth by the new revelations.

_Eight-year-old Danny Fenton dragged his new-friend-for-the-past-week into his home, excitedly telling him all about everything and anything he had in his home or did with his family. The little African-American boy, Tucker Foley, who was also eight ('And a half!') nodded along at everything he was told, eagerly asking questions and providing his own comments and stories. Stopping in the hallway, they came to another old photo with three happy friends in it: One tall and large man in an orange jumpsuit and sporting a black-haired mullet; the next, a thin, average height young woman with curly red hair that reached to her shoulders; the last a slim, tall man with hair as dark as or darker than the first, his face long and chiseled, blue eyes sparkling with happiness that looked very similar to Danny's own eyes._

_"This is my parents in college with their friend... I've never met him before, but Dad says he's nice." Danny smiled at his friend beside him as the boy squinted slightly at the picture before pushing up his round glasses. He brought up a finger and tapped the glass on top of one of the people, glancing questioningly at the pale boy next to him._

_" 's that your dad?" At Danny's confused look, he continued. "I mean, I've seen your mom, obviously, and she's pretty recognizable, but this dude looks a lot like you... So?" He pressed, his eyes showing he would not relent. Danny shook his head with an easy smile._

_"Nah. Dad's the one in orange. The other dude's just some friend..." He looked at the picture again, noticing a few similarities but shook himself out of his musings and grinned widely at Tucker. "You wanna play video games? I got this awesome new one this weekend. It's called 'Doom'." _

_Tucker's eyes widened. "Dude! I love that game!"_

Drifting back to reality, Danny stared, unblinking at the wall... Vlad really was his Da-birth father?... NO. No it wasn't true, was it? There was just no way that-

"DANNY!" His mother's voice rang through the silence, obviously frustrated with him for some reason... again. Wait. They were home already? How long had he even been up here...? With a tired sigh, he got up off the floor and ambled downstairs to meet her. He might as well figure out what he did wrong... if only to get his mind off the whole strange (and frightening) situation.

He stopped as another thought suddenly entered his mind. What if Vlad found out? He couldn't have possibly known. All the instances where he tried to make him his son, he never told him he _was_ his son...

No. He would not think about this. He couldn't because he was not that fruitloop's son. It just wasn't possible... and completely unreasonable.

"DANNY GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" His mothers voice wracked his enhanced hearing, and he cringed. Pushing himself into a sprint, he ran down to meet his irked parents.

Stumbling down the last step to the basement lab, photo-album still in hand, his mother's reproachful glare met him. The bright red goggles she loved hung from her neck, her arms were crossed over her chest, and her black booted foot tapped in impatience. Behind her, his father was sitting at one of the (still incredibly messy) lab tables, fiddling with an unidentified prototype. He would have cringed at the sight of his angry mother (and the lab he was supposed to clean but left unfinished)...that is, if his mind didn't keep lingering to his parents, Vlad, and adoption. Maddie didn't seem to notice his unfocused expression and sped right into the lecture.

"I am so, so disappointed in you, Danny... You were always such a good kid. You got excellent grades, did your chores, listened to our rules... Now, all that, has just flown out the window." Her slightly impatient tone seemed to rise in volume and speed, as if it gained momentum the more she spoke. "Your grades are dropping lower than we ever thought possible, you haven't been making it home on time, and you can't even just clean up the lab when we ask! What is wrong with you?! We try so hard to be patient, give you a chance to work through whatever this is, but you never improve. We can't keep-!"

"Am I adopted?" Danny cut her off mid-rant, completely unaware of anything she had said. His mind was swirling with the horrifying possibility that he was... adopted (that he was Vlad's son...) since he found the photo album an hour before. He just couldn't hold it in anymore and the question popped from his lips in a hushed, confused whisper. With the shocked silence that met him, it might as well have been shouted. If not for his enhanced hearing picking up their breathing and his mother's eyes flickering from him to his father, he would have thought that Clockwork had made an abrupt entrance, stopping time then and there. The silence was ended when his father dropped the prototype back down on the table and hesitantly came forward to join the conversation.

"...what?" The simple question, coming from the confused Jack, just seemed to anger him. "Am. I. Adopted?" He enunciated every syllable, pronouncing the words slowly so as not to shout them with the frustration rumbling in him, but it still came out stilted and demanding. He looked back and fourth between his parents as they shared a look, having a silent conversation with each other. Try as he might, it was becoming harder and harder to find physical similarities between him and his parents, and, judging by their faces, he was right about being adopted... for once he wished he was as clueless as everyone claimed... From the corners of his eyes, he could feel something wet pooling and beginning to blur his vision.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the stifled whimper of a teary-eyed Maddie. She nodded her head rapidly at her son, a look of dejected guilt. Frantically, she wiped her reddening lavender eyes with her small hand. A large gloved hand came to rest upon Maddie's shoulder, steadying her with a reassuring squeeze. Jack looked down at his son with a heavy sigh.

"You have to understand, Danny. You-" His free hand came up to rub his temple. "When I found you in the rubble of that burnt down house, I never realized how great you'd be for this family... I found I couldn't give you up-" He looked like he would have continued, though he seemed unsure of what to say, but was interrupted with the frantic blubbering of his sobbing wife.

"We'd been trying for so long to have another child, after Jazz...but the miscarriages... and the doctor told us that the ecto-radiation was preventing a baby's development... then you came along and everything was just so perfect. We never even thought to tell you that you weren't our blood. You were - are a member of this family... we never want to loose you..." She buried her face in her hands as his father looked down at him. His expression made him appear ten years older than he was. A calming hand came stretched out to rest on Danny's shoulder as Jack let Maddie curl into him. "You are our _son_. We _love_ you, _no matter what_. _Nothing_ can change that."

He smiled back, streams of tears still sliding down his pale cheeks, and let himself be enveloped in the tight hug with his parents (they were nothing but, even with DNA/ecto-signature results). And yet, while the pronouncement was meant to affirm his love and hope that someday he'd be able to tell them about his ghost half in confidence... he never felt as unsure about it as he did that day.


End file.
